


let him be mine

by Heroine (Evoxine)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Coda, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Nudity, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pseudo-Incest, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-18 11:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18119645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Heroine
Summary: Thor mourns, unaware of the gift the skies will soon bring him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> They transcend everything – from time to space to love.

Many years ago, he would have loved everything about this room. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, a plush carpet that feels heavenly against the bare soles of his feet. He could roll three times from one side of the bed to the other and he would still have enough bed. Sure, it’s nothing like his chambers back in Asgard, but Asgard is no more. If, Thor thinks, he didn’t care so much for his friends on Midgard and the realm itself, remaining in this room – this building – for another minute would not be an option.

Although, Thor isn’t quite sure where else he could go.

Half the world is gone and the remaining half is drowning in unbridled grief. The thrum of energy he used to feel, coursing through his veins and just beneath his skin, has dulled. Saying that there’s nothing left to fight for would be a white lie, but that tether he once had, the one that made him want to fight smarter, do more, be better, wrapped tight around his heart and _grounding_ him, is likewise no more.

For Loki is _gone_.

What is that Midgardian saying? The third time is the charm? Thor presses his forehead against the glass of a window, eyes fixed on the darkness of the sky but not really seeing. Perhaps that saying is true after all.

How is he supposed to wrap his mind around the fact that Loki was willing to give up the Tesseract for one single life? Thor’s life?

He remembers a time, not so long ago, when they’d been floating through space. Out on the observation deck, sat cross-legged on the ground, shoulders pressed up against each other’s. Thor can still feel that pressure sometimes, if he let himself dip into the ache of his heart.

Loose-lipped from Valkyrie’s ever-impressive stash of alcohol, Loki told him everything about his first meeting with Thanos and apologised for New York, voice low and just a little shaky. It wasn’t his intention, he’d said, to cause such destruction. It wasn’t his intention at all. He apologised for causing Thor’s exile, for being so blinded with jealousy and bitterness. He did not apologise for sending Odin down to Midgard and taking over the throne, but then again, Thor would never expect him to.

He apologised for not coming home when Thor asked, time and time again.

“It took me a while,” he said, lithe fingers wrapped around the curve of a goblet, “but I got there. I used to think that everything in my life I once held dear, that I took for granted as truth, was ripped away from me that day I found out what I was. My birthright, my parentage, my home. But I was wrong. Not everything. I always had you. You saw me for me, even when you found out I was Jötuun. You never failed to come to me, wanting me, even when your love was eclipsed by hate.”

Thor watched, through the reflection, as Loki glanced into his empty goblet and sighed.

“I could read a million tomes and scrolls and I will never find the answer as to why you are so willing to embrace me, despite what I have done, what I might do, and what I am.”

Another sigh, and Loki pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“I wanted you to hate me,” he continued. The goblet slipped from his grip and landed by his foot with a muted thud. “Because at least you would have felt something for me. I wanted to be stronger than you, because then perhaps I could have let go of the sheer need I had of you. I wanted to rule, because that might have been the answer to finding a home, a place where I belonged.”

With a short, humourless laugh, Loki extended his legs and leaned back, palms flat on the ground behind him. He turned to look at Thor, and Thor saw nothing but acceptance and exhaustion in those hauntingly beautiful eyes. They’ve been together, in more ways than one, for a thousand years, but Thor has yet to come to a conclusion on the exact colour of Loki’s eyes.

“Turns out, I never needed you to hate me, because you would always love me. I could never let go of you, because we are stronger together. And I don’t need to rule, because you are my home and I belong with you.”

Thor, rendered appropriately speechless, tried his very best to tattoo the sight of Loki’s small smile into his mind.

Silence filled the space between them, Thor fiddling with his own goblet as Loki turned to look out at the passing stars.

Thor found his voice. “I have loved you for over a millennium, brother. Loving you for another millennium or ten is not a hard task for me. We will live for lifetimes together, I promise you.”

And then their foreheads met, air shared between them, a small distance that seemed so vast. A beat, then Loki’s lips brushed soft and tentative over his own, Thor knew that his brother believed him. Fingers dug into his scalp, wanting to find purchase in strands no longer there, and Thor lost himself in the movement of Loki’s mouth against his. That kiss was the embodiment of the one thing Loki lacked the courage to say – _I love you, I love you so damn much_ – and Thor replied in kind.

Yet, he was barely a couple of years into that promise when Loki pledged his undying fidelity to him, in front of Thanos, and had the life throttled out of his frame. Until that very moment, Thor had never made a promise he could not uphold.

 

 

 

  
Thor’s all cried out. Yesterday was the first day in weeks that the sky has been clear of thunderclouds.

The sensation of Loki’s pulse, strong and steady, beneath the heel of his hand. Then, suddenly, Thor doesn’t feel it anymore. It wakes him up sometimes, leaving him panting in bed and drenched in cold sweat.

It’s what wakes him up today, the rhythmic beat faltering and the silky strands of Loki’s hair tickling the tips of his fingers. He stares at the ceiling, a hand over his thundering heart where Loki used to rest his own hand.

The clock reads 5:49 in the morning. Thor rolls out of bed, washes up in the bathroom with icy water, and changes into some comfortable clothing. Lady Carol should be awake by now, and she’s always willing to spar with him. He could definitely use a good, sweaty workout.

Sure enough, he finds her in the training room stretching, hair bundled up into something messy that rests on the back of her head. Thor likes her – she’s headstrong, weirdly funny, and insanely powerful. They spar for hours, the physical exertion doing wonders for the non-stop churning of Thor’s mind. They stop only when her stomach growls loud enough for both of them to hear.

Thor bids her goodbye with a bow, retreating to his room where he spends another half an hour sitting in the bath, knees pulled up to his chest and mind a blissful blank. Another day has come, and another day will pass, taking it with it another sliver of hope of that Loki might still be alive, that his death at Thanos’ head is yet another elaborate trick of his.

It hits Thor then – he doesn’t have a single thing left of Loki’s to remember him by. Apart from what’s on the _Statesman_ and what’s on his back, all of Thor’s – and Loki’s – belongings have been annihilated along with Asgard. Even that lock of Loki’s hair that Thor had braided in with his own, shorn off and discarded like trash. All he has left are his memories.

He can’t do this again, can’t sit here and wallow. Water sluices down the expanse of his body when he rises out of the tub, leaving puddles on the floor as he strides, stark naked, into his room. Pulling on a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, Thor bolts out of his room and makes a beeline for the communal areas. Behind him, his door bangs off the wall and the sound echoes down the hallway.

Natasha, seated at the table, glances up when he enters. There’s a glimmer of surprise in her eyes and Thor can’t fault her for that. He hasn’t exactly been very social recently. “Hey. Have you had breakfast? Steve’s whipping up some eggs and bacon in the kitchen.”

When Thor shakes his head, Natasha shouts out for Steve to cook a little extra.

“Good morning,” Thor says, giving her a small smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes and he knows that Natasha notices as much. She studies him over the edge of her tablet.

“You seem to be feeling better today.” She gestures to the outside with a jerk of her head. No rain, no thunder, no lightning.

Thor hums. “I feel something else, but I don’t think ‘better’ is really the word for it.”

They sit in silence, Natasha’s eyes flicking between the screen of the tablet and Thor’s face. Thor can feel it coming any minute now.

“We’re all sorry about Loki.” Ah, there it is. “We never really got a chance to tell you that.”

“It’s quite alright,” he replies with a hefty shrug. “I understand that there are many important things to worry about nowadays, and my brother was never anyone’s friend.”

“Regardless. You are our friend and ally, and he was important to you. He’s... really not all that bad.”

“He was everything to me,” Thor mumbles. Steve enters then, setting a plate down in front of Thor and resting a firm hand on his shoulder. Thor thanks him.

Food still tastes like papyrus, dry and rough going down his throat, but he eats steadily and cleans the plate. Right when he has nothing else to distract himself with, a thought slams into his gut. 

“He was everything to me and I let him _die_ for me.”

Natasha and Steve pause, their casual conversation skidding to a halt as they turn to look at him. Thor doesn’t pay them any attention, too focused on the deep lines etched into his palms.

Oh, actually voicing that hurt more than Thor had expected. It lances through him, a sharp pain that sparks behind his throat, shreds his heart, and buries deep into the muscles of his legs.

“Thor,” Steve begins, “he made the decision himself. You couldn’t have –”

A crackle of electricity sizzles down the length of his arm. Outside, the brightness of the sun dims a little. “I could have fought harder,” he mutters. “I _should_ have fought harder. I –” Words lodge themselves right at the back of his mouth and Thor tastes blood.

“Norns, my last words to him were –”

Thunder roars outside and Thor _runs_.

 

 

 

  
He doesn’t know how exactly he got back.

With half of Midgard’s population dissolved into thin air, there’s a whole lot more space that the realm is able to spare. So he’d run, letting his bare feet carry him through open space for miles and miles without any fear of colliding into someone. It feels like he had passed out at some point, everything going black and heavy, and the next thing he knows, he’s back in his room and tucked into bed.

Light spills in through the drapes, filling the room with a wash of honey-gold. Groaning, Thor rolls over onto his back and sucks in a lungful of air. His eyelids are heavy and his throat is burning horribly, but one look to his right wipes all forms of discomfort out of him.

“This has to be a dream,” he mumbles thickly, scrubbing at his face.

There, seated in an armchair by the side of his bed, is Loki. He’s asleep, bent over onto the bed with his head resting in the cradle of his arms. Thor counts his breaths, watching the rise and fall of Loki’s back.

“A dream,” he repeats firmly.

His hands are trembling when he reaches out, fingers questing and _aching_ to feel what is probably not even there. When he is but an inch away from Loki’s face, Thor stops and exhales. He needs to sit up for his.

“Lo,” he breathes, extending his fingers just enough to feel the softness of raven strands. He skims his fingertips down the sleek cut of Loki’s jaw and feels his heart speed up with each passing second. “ _Oh_ –”

Loki jerks awake at the touch, back ramrod straight.

They stare at each other, Thor unwilling to move a single muscle, not wanting to chase away this wonderful dream.

“I’m real,” Loki finally whispers, hands curling into fists around the sheets. His voice is rough and dry with the lack of use. “I’m here.”

Thor chokes. “You –”

Loki has lost weight, Thor thinks absently. His cheeks aren’t as full as he remembers, the shadows beneath his eyes darker. His skin is milky white in the light.

He’s still beautiful. He still takes Thor’s breath away.

“H-how?”

When Loki shifts in his seat, Thor realises for the first time that he’s not in his usual outfit. No tough leathers, no cloak, no bracers. Just thin sweats and a cotton tee, both a deep, rich green.

“Over the years, I have learned many things. I strengthened my seiðr, worked to push past my limits, acquired skills in areas I never even knew existed. I knew what Thanos was capable of, after all, even without the gauntlet.”

When Loki swallows, Thor tracks the dip of his Adam’s apple with his eyes.

“Thanos was so sure you died. That you would never be able to be resurrected again.”

“I did die,” Loki says. His voice is soft, the razor-sharp edge it used to hold no longer there. “It took everything I had to come back. I slept for twenty days – that’s 480 Midgardian hours, by the way – just to conserve enough energy to start my search for you. Travelling to Midgard almost killed me again, but after all this time, I finally found you.”

“You’re really real?”

Loki drags his bottom lip through his teeth. Another swallow and his brows knit together.

“Touch me again. Please? Sometimes I’m not too sure myself.”

So Thor moves closer, close enough to slip his fingers through Loki’s hair, starting from the ridge of his hairline, moving over the crown of his head, and down to the curve of his neck. There, he rests the heel of his palm over Loki’s pulse and waits, terrified.

He feels a pulse.

With a barely suppressed cry, Thor pulls Loki bodily onto the bed, keeping his brother seated between his spread thighs as he runs his thumbs over the arch of Loki’s cheekbones. When Loki closes his eyes, Thor kisses the paper-thin skin of his eyelids, the light pressure coaxing a few tears free. Thor chases them down Loki’s cheeks, relishing in the burst of salty droplets across the seam of his lips. 

“You’re _here_ ,” Thor rasps, hands eager to re-map Loki’s face and frame.

“I am.” Loki sounds just as awed as he does. It’s only when Loki reaches up to swipe at his jaw does Thor realise he’s crying, too.

But the sun continues shining brightly outside and Thor can’t help but laugh.

 

 

 

  
After Thor memorizes every single detail of Loki’s face, from the line of his eyebrows to the laugh lines that appear when he smiles, he drops a kiss on chapped lips and moves on to the rest of his body. He counts and recounts the number of freckles on Loki’s neck, maps the intricate system of veins that run down the length of his arms.

Loki slips off his shirt and Thor runs the pads of his thumbs over every scar he sees. He takes his time and Loki lets him, hands in his lap as he breathes in and out. Chest, stomach, back, sides. He kisses the scar just beneath his left clavicle, just above his beating heart. Thor tucks his face into the crook of Loki’s neck and inhales his brother’s scent, filling his lungs up with it until they’re fit to burst.

They shift, pushing the covers aside to let Loki lie on his back and for Thor to tug his pants down. Toned thighs, still whipcord strong despite how much Loki’s been through. Lean calves, sharp knees and equally sharp ankles. Thor kisses each ankle and the sole of each foot. When he glances back up at Loki, he sees tears swimming in his eyes. Right here, right now, his eyes are the exact shade of a lush forest.

“I love you, Lo. You are my world.”

Sliding back up Loki’s frame, Thor pauses to kiss the rosy head of Loki’s half-hard cock. Loki smiles down at him and a tear rolls down his cheek.

Thor sheds the rest of his clothes and rests his head on Loki’s pillow, gathering his brother into his arms until he's able to feel him everywhere. With a soft sigh, Loki tucks his head under Thor’s chin and winds his arms around Thor’s middle. He slips a cold foot between Thor’s shins, just like he always does when they end up in a bed together, blatantly stealing Thor’s constant warmth. Thor lets him, just like he always does.

They lie there, Thor absently twisting Loki’s hair into small braids while Loki focuses on the _thudthudthud_ of Thor’s heart. Thor doesn’t ever want to take his hands off of his brother again and Loki seems perfectly okay with that.

At some point, Loki falls asleep. Thor holds him close, kisses the top of his head, and closes his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Direct continuation of Chapter 1 – this one is much fluffier :)

Hours later, Thor opens his eyes. For a split second, he panics, terrified that Loki’s return was but a glorious dream. Right at that precise moment, his leg chooses to tingle in complaint, an insistent buzz of _get this weight off me!_ , and Thor realises that Loki is still in his arms, still deeply asleep, still breathing and alive and _whole_.

Gently and slowly, he extricates his leg from where it’s pinned down by Loki’s. His brother snuffles in his sleep, brows drawing together for a heartbeat or two before relaxing once more, and Thor can’t help but press a kiss to his forehead before slipping out of bed.

It’s past noon, and Thor is ravenous. His voracious appetite, dormant for weeks, is back with a vengeance and he is honour-bound to feed it. He spares a few minutes for washing up before he’s out of the bedroom – with one last glance over his shoulder at his slumbering brother, buried deep beneath the covers – and heading towards the kitchen.

Bruce is there, standing in front of the refrigerator with a hand on his hip and another around a large bottle of orange juice.

“Good afternoon,” Bruce says, huffing at the contents of the fridge before he turns and shuts the door. “I can’t believe we’re out of all other juices apart from this.” He gives the carton in his hands a despondent shake.

Thor passes him a mug, one designed to look like the Man of Iron’s armoured mask, and gives his friend a sympathetic pat on the back.

“Where is everyone?”

“Outside,” Bruce answers, pouring out a small amount of juice and taking a seat at the table. “Enjoying the sun. It’s been a while since we, um, had such nice weather.”

It does look wonderful outside, Thor has to admit, sunlight bathing the grounds with warmth and a gold that reminds him of Loki’s burnished armour. He smiles, and Bruce coughs into his juice.

“You look happy.”

“Indeed,” Thor rumbles, taking over Bruce’s recently vacated spot by the fridge. He pulls out a bunch of food, setting them down on the counter before digging in a cupboard for a large pan. It’s clear that Bruce wants an explanation for his drastic change in mood, but Thor waits until he’s got four eggs sizzling away before he turns to his friend.

“Loki’s back.”

The mug in Bruce’s hand slips from his grip and shatters into a hundred pieces by their feet.

“What? But you said –”

“Thanos did kill my brother,” Thor says, poking at the yolk of an egg. “But Loki came back. I do not quite know how, but he tells me his seiðr is greater than it has ever been. He came back, Banner, to me.”

Beaming, Thor slides the eggs out onto a plate, and Bruce watches as the god dumps a whole pack of bacon into the pan. Amidst all the popping and crackling, Bruce tries and fails to come up with an appropriate response. But Thor looks so happy, and Bruce is probably the only person alive who can attest to the change in Loki. He now knows the truth behind New York, has witnessed Loki fighting alongside his brother and for his people, and was there when Loki did his best to trick Thanos and save Thor.

“I’m happy for you,” is what he settles on.

The delight in Thor’s eyes softens to something more poignant.

“I am well aware of your views on my brother – he is not the most likeable of beings, what with his sharp tongue and fondness for trickery. But no one knows the Loki I know. The Loki who would let me lie in his lap while he read to me, the Loki who would braid my hair and smoothen out creases in my clothes, the Loki who always made it to my side when I was injured before anyone else could.”

The strips of bacon join the eggs on the plate. Thor picks up a fruit knife and an apple, and he peels the skin away from the flesh so quickly that Bruce could’ve sworn he used magic.

“He makes me a better person,” Thor says, piling all the cut fruit into a large bowl, “even when we were at odds and it felt as though we could no longer be together. There would be no Thor without Loki, for that I am sure.”

It is then that Loki chooses to materialise into being, perched on the other end of the dining table with Thor’s cape wrapped around his shoulders. Bruce yelps and stubs his toes on the foot of his chair, narrowly missing cutting the bottom of his foot on a large piece of broken ceramic.

“Loki,” Thor says softly, not bothered whatsoever by his brother’s silent appearance. “You’re up. Are you hungry?”

Red slips from Loki’s hands and pools on the floor, and Thor finds himself with a half-sliced pear in one hand, a fruit knife in the other, and his brother’s arms wrapped around his middle. It takes a bit of shuffling, but Thor manages to free his hands and return the hug, smothering the crown of Loki’s head with kisses.

That’s how Steve and Natasha find them, and Bruce really has to applaud the fact that neither one picks up the nearest weapon they could find.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Steve asks, looking to Bruce for an answer.

“I knew there had to be a catch,” Natasha mutters, “for all this sun.”

Bruce can only offer a helpless shrug.

The brothers separate, but Thor keeps a strong hand on Loki’s delicate shoulder.

No one speaks, Bruce looking between Steve and Natasha and the two Asgardians as if he had front row seats to a Wimbledon final match.

Then Loki waves his hand, and the broken mug by Bruce’s feet is made whole, not a single crack visible on its surface. Another wave and the puddle of juice is gone. Steve blinks down at Iron Man’s pristine ceramic face.

“I am not here to fight you,” Loki says, and Thor winces at the roughness of his voice. “Nor am I here to beg your forgiveness.”

The remaining Avengers and their allies have already been informed by Thor of Loki’s previous encounters with Thanos, which Bruce suspects is a great help in coaxing them to listen.

“I am here to be with Thor, and if I am able, I am here to help.”

“Help?”

“Kill Thanos,” Loki clarifies, rubbing at his eyes. “Reverse what he’s done. You know, the works.”

“Why?”

Loki pulls a thin lip through his teeth and bites back a snarl. “Because he is a tyrant who fancies himself a martyr. He is manipulative, sadistic, and ruins families and civilizations on whimsy. He is a festering soul driven by a twisted ideal of righteousness. He –”

His words are cut off when Thor pushes a glass of water into his hands. The liquid trembles and Thor curls a soothing hand around the slim column of Loki’s neck in an effort to stop his brother’s shaking.

“He had no right,” Loki finishes in a whisper.

 

 

 

  
Bruce joins Natasha and Steve in watching the two gods eat. Loki’s working his way through a huge bowl of yoghurt and fruit while Thor digs into his fry-up, although Thor makes sure Loki takes a few bites of his eggs for extra protein. Apart from the clinking of utensils and the few words the brothers deign to exchange in front of them, the room is silent.

“Do gods even need the nutrients that we do?” Natasha mutters to Bruce.

“I’ll add that to my to-study list,” Bruce replies.

On his other side, Steve is still frowning thoughtfully at Loki, the latter doing excellently at pretending he doesn’t notice.

“So, how exactly did you come back from the dead this time?”

“Years of practice and a couple of trips to the realm of the dead,” Loki says, giving Thor one of his apple chunks. He waits until Thor chews and swallows before turning back to his food. “Even so, it wasn’t a foolproof plan – I took a chance and it paid off.”

Thor runs the back of his fingers reverently across Loki’s cheek; when Loki smiles at his brother, Natasha coughs and Steve flushes a ripe shade of red. Bruce simply takes it in stride.

Loki looks better now that he’s got food in him. Colour is back in his cheeks and there’s a subtle shine to his eyes.

“Speaking of a plan…” Loki digs around in his pockets and pulls out a slip of crumpled paper. He grimaces at the state of it, but a flutter of his fingers has it crisp and fresh in his hands once more. Bruce stares as it floats over to him. “Dr. Banner, I would appreciate it if you could track down the whereabouts of these individuals. If they’re still alive, that is.”

“Who are they?” There are eight names on the list, all penned in neat, elegant script.

“People with abilities we could use.”

“You have a plan?” There’s something akin to hope in Steve’s eyes, and after weeks of little to no progress, no one can fault the man for feeling that way.

Loki lifts a shoulder and prods at the lone piece of melon remaining in his bowl. “That largely depends on how many people on that list are alive. But yes, I have an inkling of a plan, if you will, one that I could develop with your help.”

It’s amazing, the way that lightens the mood immediately. Bruce is used to it being quiet and dreary, everyone weighted down by stress, grief, and hopelessness. He never would’ve thought that _Loki_ would be the one to chase those shadows away, even if it’s just for a little while, but it’s a gift he’s not about to refuse.

“And you’ll have it,” Steve announces with a firm nod. “Anything we can do, just say the word.”

The corner of Loki’s mouth tilts upwards and he pops the melon into his mouth.

 

 

 

  
Sunlight caresses his skin, the warmth a nice contrast to the natural coolness of Loki’s skin. They’re strolling through the grounds, Loki’s slight hand wrapped up in Thor’s large one as they soak up much needed sun. He’s aware of his friends trailing behind them – he understands their need to keep an eye on his brother, but he’s also thankful that they have allowed them enough space for privacy.

A breeze flits by, tousling Loki’s hair just enough for Thor to catch a glimpse of blond weaved amongst his raven tresses.

“What’s this?” With his free hand, Thor slips his fingers into Loki’s hair, palm cradling the base of his skull. He finds the braid, neatly hidden, and traces the lock of blond hair with his thumb.

“You know what it is,” Loki answers quietly.

“How?”

“Right after,” Loki says, looking up at Thor’s shorn hair. “I saved a lock. You lost your braid, so I thought I could take over for you.”

Thor’s heart is so full it could burst into a million pieces of bright pink confetti. He kisses the back of Loki’s hand and marvels at the shot of colour that blooms in his brother’s cheeks.

“Can I do something?” Loki asks, stopping abruptly. Behind them, Natasha and Steve (Bruce had gone to start his research on Loki’s list of names) skid to a halt as well. Thor gazes down at his brother, clearly aware that despite Loki’s relative weakness, he can still cause great harm. He nods anyway.

Loki squints up at him and mumbles a quick spell under his breath.

“What’d you do to him?” Steve demands, voice carried over by the breeze. He’s instantly on edge, but Loki doesn’t seem ruffled in the slightest.

In lieu of a verbal answer, Loki nudges Thor’s head towards Steve with firm fingers on his jaw. Steve walks closer, eyes raking over Thor’s face and body, but he still looks confused.

“I didn’t like the brown,” Loki explains, pointing to Thor’s fake eye. It’s now the same blue as Thor’s natural eyes, electrifying and multifaceted. “The blue of his eyes is the most beautiful blue I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen many shades of blue in my years. It’s a blue that deserves to be enjoyed, wouldn’t you agree?”

He laughs at the sight of a spluttering Captain America, and it’s a sound of pure mirth, untainted by bitterness or malice. Thor absolutely adores it and he tells Loki as much, in a loud, booming declaration that sends Steve into yet another bout of stuttering.

Natasha rolls her eyes and steps in, tugging on Steve’s arm until he starts to move.

“We’ll leave the two of you to it,” she says pointedly. When Steve trips over a mound of dirt and careens into Natasha, she slaps him upside the head and huffs.

When they’re finally alone, surrounded by each other, Loki grabs a handful of Thor’s hoodie and leans in close.

“Kiss me?” Soft, beseeching, a hint of nervousness.

“Norns, Loki, you never have to ask.”

It’s the sweetest thing, Loki’s mouth. Thor knows that nothing else will compare, that Loki’s taste will shine through even the sharpest of words or the most powerful of curses. Wanting to savour it, Thor kisses his brother nice and slow, both hands cupping Loki’s jaw to hold him in place.

But Loki kisses Thor like he’s afraid it would be the last time. There’s an underlying current of desperation that Thor picks up easily, evident in the way Loki nips at his bottom lip and delves into his mouth, in the tense set of his shoulders and rapid thrum of his heart.

“Hey,” Thor mumbles against his lips, thumbing at the side of Loki’s mouth until he starts to feel his brother relax. “Breathe.”

A slide of his tongue along the seam of Loki’s lips has them parting immediately, and Thor ventures in like it’s one of the universe’s greatest treasures waiting to be explored. It’s their first kiss since that night on the _Statesman_ , since Loki died, since Thor had his baby brother back in his arms.

Their mouths fit together like the two remaining pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle and Thor relishes in the soft press of Loki’s lips against his own, between his own, around his own.

Loki is the first one to pull away, eyes firmly shut and kiss-swollen lips a gorgeous shade of pink. An identical smear of pink rides high on his cheeks and Thor can’t help the sudden bolt of lightning that dances across his fingertips at the sight.

It doesn’t seem to shock Loki; he simply opens his eyes and watches it spark against his skin.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, curling a hand around Thor’s wrist, close but not quite touching the lightning. “You’ve grown so much and so well, and no one deserves the title of a king more than you do.”

Thor kisses him again, a chaste touch of lips to lips.

“Wouldn’t be without you.”

Loki cannot argue with that, so he settles for a smile.

“Come,” Thor says, calling the lightning back and taking Loki’s hand. They start walking again, the grass crisp beneath their feet. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. He was the one who brought me to Niðavellir, and his buddy – a talking tree, can you believe it? – helped the forging of Stormbreaker.”

“Oh? What’s his name?”

“Rabbit!” Thor declares. “Well, he calls himself Rocket, but he’s a rabbit, so I call him Rabbit. You know, as a term of endearment and all.”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure he’s a rabbit?”

“Positive,” Thor nods. “He’s got the fur and everything.”

“Thor,” Loki says, fighting back a snicker, “have you ever seen a rabbit?”

That has Thor frowning, now unsure of himself, and Loki laughs for a good minute. 

**Author's Note:**

> I had an urge, so I itched it. I have absolutely no regrets. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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